


Your Time Has Run Out

by kurushi



Category: Labyrinth (1986)
Genre: Songfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-07-01
Updated: 2008-07-01
Packaged: 2020-07-30 10:49:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,624
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20096047
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kurushi/pseuds/kurushi
Summary: June Prompt: Your time has run out, your time has run out, / They lied, they lied baby, and I tried, I tried lately... - PilateToby knows that his childhood memories of the Goblin King are just imaginary.  When Sarah moves out, Toby feels stranger and stranger things begin to happen.  What is his subconscious doing?I wrote this partly because I haven't noticed any slash as-of-yet on the Underground site, and partly because a friend bemoaned of any readable Jareth/Toby.





	Your Time Has Run Out

**Author's Note:**

> Note from banshee, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [Underground](https://fanlore.org/wiki/Underground_\(Labyrinth_archive\)) and was moved to the AO3 as part of the Open Doors project in 2019. I tried to reach out to all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are the creator and would like to claim this work, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Underground’s collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/underground/profile).
> 
> Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. No money is being made from this work. No copyright infringement is intended.
> 
> My love to anyone who gets the kinda blatant references to other books and films. You'll know who you are. 

Toby smiled wanly as he hefted a box onto his waist, helping Sarah to move some more things into the attic. Inside were her old toys, some books, and, at the very bottom, the red book. She hadn't said a word when she'd picked it up from her bookshelf, she'd just pursed her lips, as if she'd come across some ugly sour taste, and slapped it on top of an old X-men comic so casually that Toby had known at once that something was up.

  


And then, after she'd noticed him looking, she'd met his eyes, seriously. He'd deposited his armful of old books on top of it, closed the box, and stared right back.

  


“Toby,” She'd asked, “You _are_ over that make-believe stuff, right?”

  


He'd said yes, yes, of course, of course. And he'd dragged the box into the hallway.

  


“I'll put this one with the others, then.”

  


She'd grunted, already started on another box. So he knew he was safe. If she thought that he'd regressed to his childhood, to his imaginary friend, she wouldn't have let him carry the box.

  


She'd be sure that he was going to reach in and grab that book. But Toby didn't need props like that anymore. He knew that Jareth wasn't real, and never had been. That the man was probably a father-figure or internalised psych issue that Toby had projected onto Sarah's teen fantasy fairytale.

  


But, just because somebody was imaginary, didn't mean, as such, that they weren't real. Oh sure, he didn't have a corporeal form, but he was still real. He had still formed a huge part of Toby's personal development. And Toby still valued his opinion.

  


But he had to play it safe, and only whisper to Jareth when he was completely alone. Take long bike rides, and sit in the middle of nowhere, almost, and share the view with him. Because the drugs, the psychologists, and having to see the looks on his parent's faces, and on Sarah's face, had been too awful for words.

  


Toby dumped the box down beside a pile of others, and went back down to help Sarah move some more stuff.

  


When she had gone, leaving with hugs and promises to call and write and call and visit soon, and his Mum and Dad had settled down with a film after clearing the dinner dishes, Toby had walked to his room, set his CD player on loudly, with metal, and walked softly in bare feet down the hallway to Sarah's old room.

  


Although they'd packed up most of the things she'd had in there, the furniture was still around. Toby sat in front of her mirror and leant against the dresser on his elbows.

  


“If,” he mouthed, careful not to speak aloud, just in case they heard him, “if you were real, and there was a way to travel between my reality and yours, it'd be through here. This mirror. I've been reading about mythology, at school. A teacher lent me a Joseph Campbell book. And for Sarah and me, our mythology of you, this mirror is it.

  


“It reflects our lives, and ourselves, and all of the elements of our lives that we incorporated into your story. It shows us our own selves, our own faces, warped a little. Slightly twisted. I like that word, twisted.

  


“Twisted. We are and we are not, and we face you, the unkonwn. Sarah's dragon of her subconscious lust, and my shadow self. The one who never grew up, and always could play dress-up, and dance without being called a flaming poofter.”

  


If Jareth was real, this would be the point at which he would appear, ethereal, over Toby's shoulder. He would make a face in the mirror, and Toby would whip his head around, to discover that there was nobody in the room. Just empty space, and the shadow-ghost in the mirror.

  


_Oh, but you _are _a smart little one_, Jareth would say, wiggling his eyebrows. And Toby would laugh, because Jareth loved to perform, like Sarah. Because if he felt unsure or rejected, he would mope and get into a huff.

  


_Oh come on, little one. I don't _do _huffs. I'm a king, remember?_

  


“Oh yes, and you're a very important man. You have a tower.”

  


_Well? I do. And I am a very - _

  


Jareth lowered his face dramatically, shadowing his eyes and leering up eerily at Toby,

  


_VERY important man, sweetheart._

  


Toby drew back, because if they were really in the same room, Jareth would tickle him. Jareth had no respect for age or appropriateness. If Toby couldn't fight back, he'd probably still be dressing him in those awful frilly gowns, like when he was three.

  


_Oh, come on. They were gorgeous on you. You looked practically edible. And I'm perfectly aware of your recent... developments. Very different parts of you are edible, now._

  


“Wha?”

  


Alright, that had never happened before. What on earth had that been about?

  


“Toby, oh, come down here, you'll love this!”

  


“Ah! I've got to go!”

  


He ran downstairs, to see what his Mum had called him down about. She was pointing to the TV, on which were images of a very flamboyant party.

  


“It's the Gay and Lesbian Mardi gras, in Sydney. Oh, hang on! There we go!”

  


She pointed energetically at the screen, where a young man with very muscular thighs was dancing beside a transvestite covered in pink and plastic fruit. The man with the thighs turned, and Toby saw the waistcoat, and the frilled shirt. So frilly and ludicrous that it bounced around, as the thigs danced about. Toby winced and looked away from the screen.

  


“See? It's like what you used to dress up in, when you played make-believe with Sarah!”

  


His mum was smiling, reminiscing.

  


“Aw, Mum... yuck!”

  


Toby walked back upstairs, slowly, and eyed Sarah's old mirror suspiciously. What on _earth_ was his subconscious trying to tell him?

  


He flopped down on his own bed, his door safely shut, and felt his muscles sag in exhaustion. Lifting all those boxes had been pretty harsh, after all.

  


It felt strange, staring up at his roof like this. With the light out, and the shadows of the evening just sitting, awkwardly, in angular geometric perversions of his desk and his PC and his backpack, everything seemed alien. Just that oh-point-five percent stranger, just perverted enough away from normality to set Toby's mind drifting in confusion.

  


He used to lie in bed, in the dark, with Jareth. They used to point out the shapes of goblins and ninjas and space marines in the corners. If they accidentally saw a jabberwock, Jareth would leap from the bed and brandish a flaming sword, to chase it away.

  


Things were a lot simpler, then. Now, Toby felt strange, and as if he knew, without knowing, that something very strange and wrong was going to happen soon.

  


He watched the shadows click with the hall light, as his parents turned it off, into new, harsher, even more alien shapes. Colder, and darker.

  


He wished it was all different. He wished he'd been able to move on from his daydreams, or channel them into something productive, like Sarah had. He wished that the world would stop, and freeze everything as it was, so that he had time to just catch up. Before it all spiralled out of control.

  


“I wish...”

  


_Toby..._

  


“What are you doing here, now? You haven't been in here in years, not at night.”

  


Jareth, feeling more solid and real now than before, almost real enough to see, real enough to touch, sat down on the edge of Toby's bed and brushed his fingers against Toby's forehead.

  


Which was wrong, because they were soft, like Toby had expected. But the fingernails were uneven, and a little jagged on the edges. Toby had even felt a sharp, hard, dry spur of skin scrape against his hair.

  


Jareth began to speak, but Toby just couldn't let it go. This was wrong.

  


“This is wrong. You're not corporeal, you're a figment of my imagination!”

  


Jareth blinked, and stared at him.

  


“Oh, Jareth, my poor, dear Jareth, what crapulence have they been feeding your brain with?”

  


Toby frowned.

  


“Why are you talking to yourself, and why aren't you answering my questions? You never used to be like this...”

  


Jareth snapped his fingers, and appeared to be thinking. He muttered to himself beneath his breath.

  


“... so short on time... the books said that if I let the girl win... but he's still connected, despite my best efforts...”

  


Oh, for...

  


Toby decided that he'd just lie back down, return to his thoughts, and hope that this weird subconscious hallucination of Jareth would fade. He just wasn't being the support or vindication that Toby needed today.

  


Toby wished, in a way, that Jareth was real. That he could just skip out of this boring, dull, repetetive life, and into a world full of goblins and adventures. Of magic, and a threat of peril so real and close that being alive had, most days, a greater sense of meaning.

  


“I wi-”

  


Toby heard rather than felt the loud slap as Jareth's hand covered his mouth.

  


“Oh no, boy. Not after all I've been trying, to keep you here. Don't you want to be with your family?”

  


Toby stared past the fingers, confused. What on _earth_ was Jareth on about?

  


“Oh, come now, Jareth! Are you really that obtuse?!”

  


Toby stared. This crazy idiot-brain Jareth was a little scarier than the friendly, nurturing Jareth, but there was something to the crazy mania in his eyes. He seemed realer, more full of energy, than Toby had ever thought of him before.

  


His exasperation even seemed more dynamic. Jareth's lip curled, as he exhaled. His brows knit. He scratched his head with his free hand, as if contemplating something. Then, resolute, he leant down beside Toby's ear, and whispered.

  


“Don't say that word aloud again. It wakes them up, you see. They said they wouldn't try to come here, but they lied. They're in the shadows, waiting. So don't you _dare_ wish for anything.”

  


There didn't seem to be much to do besides nod, so Toby slowly nodded. Twice, for good measure. And then his lips were free of Jareth's fingers. The air was cold on them.

  


Toby decided to start with the most pressing level of crazy, and then move on. He wondered what issues he was externalising, to make Jareth behave like this.

  


“Why do you keep on talking to yourself?”

  


Jareth frowned, confused, and looked at Toby as if _he _were the one making no sense. So Toby explained.

  


“Look, you keep on adressing 'Jareth'. You're Jareth, so you are talking to yourself. Does that make any sense to you?”

  


Jareth laughed. A bitter, barking, laugh. Toby thought it was put on, a bit. But then, he thought, realising with surprise that he'd always known, the Goblin King had always been a bit of a drama queen.

  


“Oh, my poor son. What lies they have fed you! Your name is Jareth.”

  


Toby blinked, and then shook his head. His own laughter was easier, bubbling up inside his chest. How stupid! How hilarious! What a twist of psychological acrobatics! Because, in the end, with his imagination and his dreams, Toby _was _indeed Jareth.

  


He explained this, feeling a little silly about it all, to Jareth. Who screamed, and threw a book at the wall.

  


“No, no, NO! So blinded by their lies! Oh, if I could, I would...”

  


He stopped, abruptly, and looked down at Toby. Toby felt increasingly baffled, and adrift. He couldn't find a single word that made sense.

  


“I suppose,” Jareth continued in a calmer tone, “That you will have to be shown everything.”

  


He raised a hand to Toby, and then reached forwards to close his eyes.

  


**

  


Toby woke the next morning, and everything felt the same. Although the sun shone in through the windows, and everything seemed to be back to normal, the confusion and sense of wrong didn't leave him. He heard his mum calling him from downstairs, so he crawled out of bed. He did his best to ignore the book that was lying on the floor.

  


He told the mirror in the hall that irrespective of its' impressions, his name was Toby, and he liked it that way. And, anyway, conversations would be confusing. He hoped the message got through to his hindbrain.

  


When he got downstairs, his mum was looking frazzled.

  


“Why did you sleep in so late? Sarah called half an hour ago, and said you were supposed to meet her at the cinema. She's driving over here to pick you up now. I wish you'd be a bit more responsible, or at least tell me when you arrange things like this. I could've woken you up.”

  


She rushed on into the kitchen, and continued doing something busy. Toby tried to think past his confusion. He didn't remember Sarah inviting him out. And they rarely went to movies together; they generally went to libraries and museums and bookstores.

  


But no, he could even hear Sarah's car pulling up outside. He must've been so occupied with his weird dreams last night that he'd forgotten their meeting completely when he woke up.

  


Toby ran back upstairs, dressed as quickly as he could, and ran out the door, calling goodbye to his mum on the way. Sarah ushered Toby into the backseat of her car, and he sat down to take a deep breath.

  


“So who're your friends, Sarah?” He asked her. There was a short someone in the front passenger seat, and a taller someone beside him. He turned to look at the taller someone.

  


Then he faced the front of the car. It wouldn't do to let Sarah know that he was still hallucinating.

  


Sarah eyed Toby sternly through the rear-vision mirror.

  


“Don't be rude, Toby. Say 'Hello' to Jareth. And meet Hoggle,” here the short person turned around, and revealed himself to be a short, knobbly gnome-like creature, “who helped me on my quest to save you when you were a baby.”

  


“Uh... hi.”

  


They drove to the local supermarket, bought some salads and some rolls, and then walked to the park. Nobody else seemed to notice Jareth's strange clothing, or Hoggle's strange shape.

  


When they had eaten, and Toby's brain had started to slowly wake up, Sarah began to explain things. The Labyrinth was real. She had wished Toby away, and Jareth had lost. She had returned home triumphant.

  


Then Jareth explained. That the goblins were the ones who abducted children, and that without their power, the kingdom was nothing. That Jareth could only channel their powers, mostly. That thankfully the goblins were stupid enough to be directed by his will. That there were rules, older even than the goblins. That in her victory, despite Jareth trying his best to assist her, she had failed to fulfil the requirements of the rules.

  


“But,” Toby interjected, as he picked at the last roll, “why did you want her to win?”

  


Sarah rolled her eyes. Jareth looked embarrased. Hoggle spoke.

  


“Because, you idiot, he started to care for you. He changed his mind, and decided he wanted you to grow up human, and happy-like.”

  


Toby couldn't really say anything, other than, “Oh.”

  


“So,” Sarah continued, “I did my best to help you. When I realised that you still saw Jareth, almost daily, and that Mum and Dad thought you were nuts. I encouraged you to give it up, in case they hospitalised you. Again, I mean. And so that you didn't get too attached to him.”

  


Toby let it all sink in, staring thoughtfully at the grass and crumbs between his legs. Jareth was real, really real. And all those years, with the meds, and the denial, and everything. With the confidences, and whispered conversations, and games after dark.

  


He looked at Jareth, and felt a huge grin split his own face almost in two.

  


“You're real.”

  


Jareth grinned back.

  


“I am.”

  


Toby never remembered who moved. Possibly they both did. All he could remember was his arms flinging, falling heavily against Jareth's sides, as he felt arms wrap around his own body. They stumbled, and fell, and just hugged.

  


Since the doctors, Jareth hadn't been corporeal. He hadn't held Toby. It felt right, to be able to finally feel the man's warmth. Like hugging a family member. Jareth was, more or less, a part of Toby's family, anyway. Toby felt warm inside, and lighter and happier than he could ever remember feeling. He felt sane, and safe, and suddenly right.

  


Sarah cleared her throat, uncomfortably. Then, in the way adults have, she explained things again. Did Toby understand that he was still bound to things? That he might become a Goblin? Why was he being so apathetic, and could he _please_ stop playing with the grass between his feet and pay attention?

  


Jareth cleared his throat, conciliatorily, and tried to resolve things, in an authoritative way. Like Toby's father. He told Toby that he wouldn't suffer for his favourite human child to live eternal life as a subjugated minion, or an ugly goblin. Especially not with his pretty hair, which would be ruined by the unwholesome lifestyle of the goblins. Intolerable.

  


Sarah made a disgusted face, and Toby set them both straight. He didn't mind the Labyrinth, he said, resolutely fiddling with the grass to annoy Sarah. He didn't really like being human, or being thought of as crazy. If being sane meant that he was a goblin, that was fine. He liked being around Jareth, even if the man was a shameless poofter.

  


Jareth protested against this statement.

  


Toby pointed out the clothing, and his strange admiration of Toby's hair. Then he said, if Jareth admitted to being perhaps slightly a little tiny bit effeminate, and interested in men, he would let Jareth play with his hair, and that he would be willing to play dress-ups again. Just once.

  


Jareth stared, and Sarah tried explaining everything again, from the start. Toby ignored her, and tried to convey his irritation with a deliberate look towards Jareth.

  


Toby felt strange, as if his mind was wandering through sludge. Or perhaps, as if the world itself was lagging. It was as if his mind had to force each thought through a sieve; as if when he heard Sarah and Jareth, and even himself talking, it echoed around and reached his ears too late. It was muted, and slow. One more step removed. Things happened in basic sentences in his mind, almost devoid of emotion. Toby felt lost, and confused, and blank.

  


But then he felt a tug on his arm, and he realised that Sarah's distant voice had stopped. Jareth was curling a hand around Toby's other arm, and pulling him backwards.

  


If he took Toby through, Jareth said through the fog in Toby's brain, then he'd be able to assert control. The boy was losing it already, and Sarah could see that for herself.

  


Toby stood still.

  


Hoggle spoke, for the first time in a while. He agreed with Jareth, said that Toby was losing human coherence, or something. That he was safer in the Labyrinth, that he would be normal for long enough to regain his independence.

  


And then, like stepping out of a hot shower, Toby's brain suddenly felt cold, and awake, and aware. He could hear sounds, and feel the fingers Jareth had curled tightly around his arms. He blinked, and took a deep breath, and stepped forwards.

  


“What the hell was that?”

  


Toby felt himself clasped by Jareth's hands and spun around, harshly. He found himself staring in confusion at wisps of hair, as Jareth ran his fingers over Toby's body.

  


“Hey, what the...”

  


Hoggle had come with them, he realised, as he felt smaller, harder, knobbly fingertips run up the back of his thighs.

  


“All clear; he's lost all the bits.”

  


Jareth sighed, his breath tickling Toby's neck.

  


“Thank bloody hell for that! You,” he stepped back and frowned sternly at Toby, “almost changed right then and there. I shouldn't have left it this long. I'm so sorry.”

  


“I... oh.” Toby felt his brain become even clearer, and the snippets of conversation he had heard collected themselves. There was a force at work, a little more deeper than Jareth could control, which wanted Toby to become a goblin. Forever. And now he was here, without any... bits. As Hoggle had said. He started to ask Jareth, but the man disappeared as Toby's mouth opened.

  


“Prob'ly just went to tell Sarah you're fine.” Hoggle explained, and he hobbled away behind Toby.

  


“Well, c'mon! We'd better feed you, soon as we can.”

  


Toby felt confused.

  


“Feed me?”

  


Hoggle pah-ed and bah-ed and muttered about idiot American children as he led Toby slowly down the hall, before he bothered to explain.

  


“It's a basic mythological concept; if you eat the food of the Underworld or Underground, or wherever, you get tied to that place. You've got bits of it inside you. Since the “contract” or whatever-you-call-it is trying to enforce your goblinhood and servituted, and we don't want it to, at least not before we can free you, we gotta trick it. Make it think you're more a part of the Labyrinth than you really are.”

  


“Oh, like that greek chick?”

  


“Yes. Glad to know that you're not a complete idiot. But you won't get anything like fruit here. All we've got is what the goblins can make. So hold your nose, and remind yourself that if you don't, then there will be whole lot more of that stuff for you, in the very near future.”

  



End file.
